A Question of Marriage
by Philyra
Summary: The first time he asked her to marry him it was autumn, the trees resplendent in robes of red and gold. Oneshot, ShuNao.


Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, because I'm not Kubo-sensei. The bleach I own keeps my whites white.

Notes and apologies are at the bottom.

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The first time he asked her to marry him it was autumn, the trees resplendent in robes of red and gold. Her first reaction was to run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, her_ shunpo_ was no match against his. Knowing her captain, if she bolted after such a question, he would surely give chase simply to discover the reason why. So she declined as politely as possible, for once sparing him the harsh blow of her fan. 

But she was no fool. She'd seen the look on his face after her refusal, and wondered if hitting him with her fan would have been the better choice. He's looked genuinely crushed, as though she'd ripped the heart from his chest and blasted it into oblivion with a blast of_ kido_. There was no sulking in a corner, no anguished cry that his Nanao-chan was being cruel as usual. No, his eyes had simply turned black with disappointment before he sat down at his desk and began to do paperwork.

And that was what had scared her the most.

Of course she loved him. It was inevitable.

As was the possibility – no, the absolute _reality_ – of heartbreak. She wasn't an idiot. Their bond as captain and vice-captain made her closer to him than any of his ladybirds, but that didn't hide the fact that that's what she would become: a ladybird. And he always let them fly away in the end.

If he let her go, her heart would break, surely.

The second time he asked her to marry him was in the cold whiteness of winter. She didn't say anything, but merely continued with her paperwork. He'd stared at her for a good long time from his desk, but she never lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. She was too afraid at what he would see. What she would see.

Later, when she'd tidied his desk and gathered the paperwork to turn in, she found that several _kanji _were blurred – as though tears had dripped onto the thin paper.

She turned a blind eye to that, as well. They were alligator tears, she told herself over and over as she stared at the ceiling that night. She was well versed in his theatrics by now, though in her heart she knew those delicate smudges, heartbreaking in their silence, were the absolute truth.

The third time he asked her to marry him was in the first blush of spring, and she fought the urge to burst into wild, hysterical laughter. What was he playing at? This time, she did hit him, squarely over the head with her book. Then she'd walked away.

She later heard from Matsumoto-fukutaichou that Ukitake-taichou had had to drag him from some seedy bar in the Rukongai district before he burned the place down – _after _he'd fought every man in the place. The fight had been woefully short and unsatisfying: all he did was sneeze and the flare of reiatsu had brought all the patrons to their knees.

The fourth time he asked her to marry him it was summer, when the sun burned white-hot. Her anger had flared just as brightly, as she_ shrieked _at him at the inappropriateness of the question and to _never, ever_ ask her such a thing ever again.

He'd challenged _her _to a duel then. If he won, he could keep asking that damnable question. If he lost, he would never ask again.

She'd lost, but she had no idea if she had really wanted him to lose. Never mind that all he needed to do to crush her was to release his zanpakuto – she truly had no idea if she'd been fighting to win. Did she want his questions?

And so he continued asking, once in every season. Sometimes she answered, sometimes she did not. The answer was always, unequivocally, emphatically, _NO_. Yet still he persisted.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. The strain of always saying no when her heart always cried out yes was too much.

So she asked him why he persisted in asking her to marry him when it was obvious that men like him did not marry women like her.

He was taken aback, for a time. It was the first time that she had truly acknowledged his question. Softly, in that low, black velvet drawl, he had asked her what kind of woman she was.

She was treading on dangerous ground. How could she answer and still retain her secret? Gripping her last vestige of sanity, she rattled off the list. Not pretty, skinny, or fashionable enough. Too refined, too restrained, too preachy, too moral. She wasn't a charming goddess of light like Matsumoto-fukutaichou. Men wanted a woman who fawned and fluttered over them, not a woman who could slice them to pieces with the power of her words. She was _safe_ – someone to flirt with because she would never have to take him seriously.

He'd cut her off then, and asked her what kind of man he was.

Her mouth seemed to run away then, and there was no way she could make it stop. Lazy. Womanizing. Pleasure-seeking. Childish. But not just that. He was too noble, too kind, too wonderful. Too loving.

Again, he'd stopped her. Then, in a low voice, he told her what kind of man he was. Not smart enough and certainly not sophisticated enough. He was no aristocratic gentleman like Kuchiki-taichou. Women like her, he said, used men like him as an intellectual and moral punching bag, someone to enjoy witty banter with. Women came to him to enjoy the good times and the light semblance of love that he offered. He was _safe_ – because he was the kind of man that women dated, not the kind of man women married.

But he could hope, he said. He could hope that a woman like her, a woman who was sharp and intelligent and far beyond the likes of him, could truly love him. She, the one woman who would not accommodate him despite his status, his seniority, his reputation.

Reaching for her, he said, was like reaching for the moon. It was impossible, but he could try.

She had not graduated at the top of her class for nothing. When she finally sorted through all of the information in her cool and logical fashion, she arrived at a conclusion.

They were perfect for each other. He loved her just as much as she loved him. He was just as afraid of losing her as she was of losing him. They had both harbored misconceptions of the other, thinking that there was no possible reason for them to be together.

But he had been willing to reach out and try. He possessed the strength and the determination and the _hope _that she could love him. And so he kept asking, dreaming of the day when she would finally give him the answer they both wanted.

How could she keep hiding in the light of this newfound knowledge? Could she really continue being such a coward? Could she continue denying her love?

The last time he asked her to marry him, it was autumn once more, and a cool wind smelling of new beginnings was sweeping the Court of Pure Souls. She said yes.

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Please review! This isn't my usual style, so I'd like to know what people think! 

So, I have no idea where this came from. I usually try to stay away from angst, but this little bunny was hopping around my head, and I had to write it down. I know, I should be working on my UkiUno installment of the Strictly Ballroom series, but I've been having some difficulties with it. It may take a little longer to come out than previously expected - one of my other installments may pop out first, considering the way my muse has been running. And what couple, pray tell, might it be? Why, it's RenjiNemu! I told you to expect some crack, didn't I? Heh heh. Well, we'll see, and I'm sorry that the Strictly Ballroom series is coming so slowly! But I've begun watching my asian dramas again, and those deliver inspiration by the truckload! Anyway, thanks to my lovely beta, poptate, for her fantastic editing skills and endless counseling!


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